A Burns Thing - Epilogue (1/1)
Title: A Burns Thing - Epilogue
Rating: M
Characters: Peter Carlisle/Rose Tyler
Disclaimer: Characters from Blackpool and Doctor Who are the property of BBC, are are used with the greatest of love and respect; no profit is intended from the writing or sharing of this story.
Written for: meralee82
Prompt: How about the morning after ' A Burns Thing'. :)
Notes: Written for the timestamp meme over at my LJ. Sorry for posting late--it's President's Day here, which is a Federal Holiday. And it's my last proper day off, I think, before I go on vacation. So I shamelessly slept in an extra four hours today. Everything up until Marth 19 will be posted at the regular time. :)
Many thanks to both earlgreytea68 and chicklet73 for making the time to beta this.
A Burns Thing - Epilogue
The room was filled with bright morning light when Rose finally drifted from slumber, to dozing, to general awareness. She could see the light through her eyelids, knew that Peter was most likely already awake and was only waiting for her to be awake, too. But it was so delicious, snug under the warm duvet, curled into the warmth of his body; it had been such a long week, getting things done before the trip, trying to make sure she’d not be needed whilst she was in Kendal.
Surely he’d understand if she slept, just a bit longer…
She slipped her hand across his chest, pressing further against him; she’d just doze, just another few minutes.
“Good morning, love,” she heard him whisper, his arm moving across her back as he held her to him.
It all came flooding back to her: the night before, Peter reading to her as she drowsed, Peter telling her-finally!-that he loved her. And she thought she’d told him, too; her memory was a bit fuzzy, but she didn’t think she’d simply dreamt it.
She opened her eyes, looking up at him. His expression was inscrutable, and she briefly wrinkled her brow as she tried to think why. She felt Peter grow very still; noted that his expression had shifted to one of guardedness.
“Did…” Rose winced as her voice came out as a raspy squeak. She swallowed, and tried again. “I…I…” She wanted to say the words-wanted to look at him, in the morning light, in his bed, and say ‘I love you.’ She did-desperately-but she found herself once again unable to say the phrase. “Peter-”
Peter’s fingers rested on her lips as he soothingly shushed her. She felt a flash of annoyance; he didn’t have to be patronizing about it. His lips quirked as he watched her, his eyes flitting across her face, his eyes now crinkled with…amusement?
She felt another flash of annoyance.
Peter surprised her then, rolling them, bracing himself above her; and then he leaned down, his lips gently brushing across hers, the kiss unhurried and undemanding-a simple expression of love and affection.
“I love you, Rose,” Peter whispered, punctuating the words with another kiss.
“I love you, Peter,” she replied, not thinking twice about what she was saying. She felt him smile as he kissed her again, and she smiled in response. “You clever, clever man,” she murmured around their kiss.
Peter outright grinned at that, then leaned forward to softly say, “And you love it.”
“I do.” She waited until he’d pulled back, until he was looking at her, and then she repeated, “I love you, Peter.” Her heart was racing in her chest-she felt a strange mix of fear and elation wash through her after she said the words, and held her breath as she waited for Peter’s response.
He shifted his weight to his right elbow, bringing his left hand to gently stroke her face, his fingers tracing down from her temple to her jaw, the repeated gesture soothing. “My Rose…my beloved Rose…”
She couldn’t help but smile; felt a flash of joy as she saw Peter’s answering smile, full of wonder. “Say it again?”
“My Rose?” he teased.
“No…”
“And you love it?”
“No.”
His smile faded, his eyes now almost black. “I love you, Rose. Madly.”
Her breath hitched.
“I…I have since you left. That is, I’ve known since you left. Since the case ended,” he added, almost as an afterthought.
She reached up, threading her fingers through his hair, and then sliding her hand to cup his jaw. “Since June?”
“Since June. Since the night we had supper at the Inn.” He gave her a small smile.
At the Inn…“So long?”
“I’ve wanted to tell you-you can’t imagine how badly I’ve wanted to, Rose. To be able to say that I love you-I love you-and, well…” He skated his glance to the side, his eyes gazing at the pillow.
Rose paused a moment, waiting to hear how he’d finish the thought, her heart racing. He remained silent, almost pensive, and she almost whispered, “I realized it when I was here, visiting you-during those two weeks.” She smiled up at him as he returned his attention to her. “In the bath. I’ve had a fondness for that bath ever since.”
He smiled, as she’d hoped he would. “I’ll have to look into having it bronzed, then,” he replied cheekily.
“Might be a bit chilly against the skin. Then again, no worse than porcelain, I suppose.” She ruffled his hair, earning a purse of Peter’s lips and a brief flash of his dimple. “D’you suppose we could stay in bed all day? Do nothing but lay here, saying, 'I love you' over and over again?”
A look of hurt flashed across Peter’s face. “Y’don’t have to tease-”
Rose’s heart ached at the idea that he’d been hurt to the point of thinking her suggestion was anything other than sincere. That a woman-women, really-could have treated his love so cavalierly, that he’d automatically assume that she was mocking his saying the words... “I’m serious, Peter. Quite serious. I…I feel like I could just keep sayin’ it. I love you. And…and that I could listen t’you say it, over and over again. ‘s like...like crack.”
Peter’s forehead wrinkled in confusion. “Eh?”
She’d forgotten that it was a reference he’d not understand. “It’s addictive. Very, very addictive.” She pulled him down for a kiss.
~ - ~
He’d hoped they’d make love that morning, murmuring words of love to each other; instead, they were interrupted by a phone call from Mickey Smith. He’d convinced her to ignore the mobile as it rang; then ignore it again as it rang not a minute later. But when it happened for a third time, Rose heaved a sigh.
“Leave it, Rose.”
“I can’t-‘s gotta be somethin’ important, if they keep ringin’ like that.”
“You’re on holiday,” he whined as she rolled out of bed, and hastily dug through her clothes for her mobile.
She gave him a cheeky wink, and then proceeded to answer the phone. He propped himself up on his elbow, watching her; how the light played across her naked body, how she shifted or stood as she wrinkled her nose and listened to what was being said on the other end of the line. Watched as she straightened, the corners of her mouth turning downwards before she barked out a series of orders, and then began to talk at length about something which sounded roughly like a sneeze but had to be a name.
He sighed, folding back his side of the duvet, standing, stretching. He relaxed, and found Rose staring at him, her mouth open slightly; he gave her a wink, and then slowly walked across the room to the en-suite, leaving her to hastily try to cover the fact that she’d stopped speaking mid-sentence.
When he emerged from his morning ablutions, Rose was in bed, the phone cradled to her ear, the duvet pulled up and tucked under her arms. He shook his head, reaching for the robe hanging off the wardrobe door, pulling it on as he walked over to her. “Pen and paper in the office down the hall,” he whispered, placing a soft kiss against her hair before turning, leaving the room, and walking downstairs.
He decided to brew up a pot of coffee, and at least inventory what options were available for breakfast-he glanced at the clock-or brunch. He’d given up his subscription to the local paper years before, but as he slowly drank his coffee, waiting for Rose to come downstairs, he wondered if maybe it wouldn’t be a good idea to renew it; it wasn’t that he didn’t know the news in the area, but it would give him something new to read on lazy mornings.
Not that he had a lot of those, to be sure; as soon as he’d shipped off the last of the McGreevy materials, Williams had sent him back to night work. He still enjoyed it-especially as he and Penny had formed a sort of friendship, both of them now finding it enjoyable to work with one another. And it was true that many of the more interesting cases often occurred in the middle of the night, when he and Penny were the detectives in charge. It wreaked havoc on seeing Rose, though-they invariably lost a day when they were together, Peter trying desperately to stay awake through the afternoon, then finding it impossible to fall asleep when Rose did.
Rose considered it to be more of an adventure than anything else, he supposed; he knew she loved to text him if she was working a late night or early morning case. He’d oftentimes be on a scene, waiting for forensics or trying not to pull his hair out as he interviewed witnesses, only to be interrupted by a text from Rose saying something delightfully naughty, or sweet-or, in at least one instance, funny enough to make him laugh at a most inopportune time.
Of course the messages appeared on the odd quiet nights when he and Penny were playing cards in the station, too, leading the DC to tease him unendingly about the value of Peter’s mobile on the black market. Penny thought it hysterical; the idea horrified Peter.
“All done.” Rose slid into the chair next to him, dressed in the pyjamas she only rarely wore during her visits.
“Done, done?”
“Hopefully. Was...” She frowned as she thought about how to explain it. “Mickey’s got a bit of a problem with this thing that looks a bit like a five-headed snail. Only it’s the size of a Dachshund. And it doesn’t have a shell.”
Peter blinked; it was terribly easy to forget the types of things Rose encountered during her job as a matter of course.
“Is it eating the greenery in people’s back gardens?” he tried.
Rose laughed. “Nah-wants all of the lacquer in Southend-on-Sea. Can’t quite work out why, though.”
“And they had to call you for this?”
Rose sighed, her hand reaching for his. “I’d come across ‘em before.” ‘Before’, he knew, meant ‘When I was travelling through space and time with the man who I used to think you resembled’. He’d grown more comfortable with the idea, but he still found it difficult to compete with the ghosts of her past-especially when the ghost in question had been able to offer her so much more than he ever could.
“Hey,” Rose said softly, leaning down to look at him, catching his eye as he gazed down at the table.
“Sorry.” He took a sip of coffee, then soldiered on. “I…I know, Rose. Intellectually, I know. It’s just…I’m working on it, emotionally. It’ll take a wee while longer, but I’ll get there.”
“I love you, Peter. You.”
“But…”
“No buts. I love Peter Carlisle, Detective Inspector and clever bastard.” She stood, releasing his hand. “I’m quite happy to stand in the back garden and shout it…” She smiled, moving to the back door; he set his mug down with a thunk, hurrying after her as she scampered away. “I love Peter Carlisle, Detec-” Rose was shouting, giggling, trying to turn the lock on the door-but he’d caught her, and covered her lips with hers before she could finish the words.
“I know,” he said softly, pulling back. “I believe you, Rose. That you love me.”
“Madly,” she replied, smiling.
“Profoundly,” he said, his knuckles ghosting across her cheek.
“Absolutely,” she whispered, her eyes large as she gazed up at him.
“How terrible for me.” He leaned down, kissing her, pressing her against the door, his hands bracing against the wood. Rose slipped her arms over his shoulders, her fingers winding through his hair as she pulled him towards her, her tongue slipping past his lips to dance against his.
His right hand dropped from the door, finding Rose’s hip; he pushed the cotton of her pyjamas out of the way, found her bare, warm skin with his fingers. She made a small noise in the back of her throat, still kissing him-he took it as a sign of approval, and slowly rocked his hips into her.
Rose broke the kiss, gasping, her hips bucking into him; he repeated the action, both of his hands now resting on her hips, holding her against him as he ground into her. She tilted her head back, resting it against the door as her hands moved to his shoulders; he rocked against her once more, causing her to whimper.
He leaned in, whispering, “I love you, Rose,” as he rocked into her once more.
“Peter…” Rose’s breath hitched, her hands moving to his hips, then his bum, pulling him firmly against her, holding him there. She raised her head, watching him as she rotated her hips, smiling as he gasped her name. She leaned forward, whispering conspiratorially, “I want you naked, Peter. And in me, making me come…” She slowly parted his robe, bunching the fabric at his hips, exposing him fully to her.
“Yes,” he hissed, his jaw clenching as he tried to retain some semblance of self-control. Rose moved forward, watching him, leaning in to place a kiss against his neck even as her hand slipped between them. She tilted her hips away, her hand deftly finding his penis and pressing against it; and it was his turn to whimper as she slowly rubbed up and down along his erection.
It would have been so easy to let her continue; to throw caution to the wind, and make love to her in the kitchen, against the door…he wanted nothing more than to do just that, to strip her of her pyjamas and knickers, to thrust into her, feel her around him…
“Then do, Peter,” she whispered, looking at him with dark eyes, answering the words he’d apparently said and not thought.
“Condom…”
Her thumb was covered with moisture from his erection, and she was distractingly rubbing it across the tip of his penis, the motion not rhythmic but still hypnotizing. “’m on contraceptives, remember?”
“But-” He groaned as she squeezed him gently, then dipped her hand back to cup his balls.
“No but, Peter. I want you to make love to me, against this door.”
He opened his eyes, found the lucidity to grab her wrist and still her actions. She gave him a lazy smile as she straightened, freeing her hand and bringing it to her lips, slowly taking her thumb into her mouth, then her index finger.
He held her gaze, answering her challenge; watched her as he moved his hands to her waist, as he looped his thumbs under the fabric and pulled her knickers and pyjamas down. She stepped out of them, one leg lifting daintily, freed from the fabric; he leaned forward, his hand finding her thigh, lifting it as he pressed between her legs. “Like that, then?” he murmured, his voice low.
“Not quite.” She rotated her hips, trying to guide him into her.
“Tell me what you want, Rose.”
She moved to reach between them, but was stopped as he pressed harder, his hips solidly against hers. He could feel her warmth surrounding him, almost driving him mad; knew it wouldn’t take but a slight hitch of his hips as he lifted her leg further in order to be buried within her.
“I want you, Peter.” She lifted her leg, rocked into him; he met her, sliding, plunging into her, surrounded by her warmth and wetness.
“Mo gradh,” he groaned, adding in a whisper, “My Rose.”
“Yours. Love you…” She was rocking against him, trying to find friction; he arched back just enough to withdraw, then pushed forward, as far as he could. Rose tilted her head back, her hands braced on his shoulders as he set a rhythm, pulling out slowly, then thrusting quickly into her.
“Rose…love this…love how you feel…” He was panting the words, his hips rocking into and away from her, the feel of her warmth around him feeding the orgasm growing in the pit of his stomach.
“Yes, Peter…faster….please….don’ stop…” Rose’s fingers were pressing into his shoulders now, her eyes glazed with need as she watched him, as she glanced from his eyes to his mouth, licking her lips.
“Want you-”
“Love you so much…love you...” she sobbed the words as she came, repeating them as her muscles spasmed around him.
And then his own orgasm crested, his motion becoming more violent, jerkier; and then he pressed as far into her as he could, releasing, whispering “I love you, my Rose.”
He was bone weary when the wave passed, but utterly, completely content. Rose had rested her head on his shoulder, her breath warm against his neck; she was slowly drifting her hands across his back, her fingers warm where they trailed over his sweat-soaked skin. He was still wearing his robe, causing him to let out a small laugh.
“Wha’s funny?” Rose asked groggily, raising her head.
He leaned forward, kissing her briefly, before releasing her leg; he slid out of her as he took a small step back, causing a small chill to pass through him. “We’re a mess, you and I. Me in my robe, you in your pyjama top…”
Rose glanced down, noting their relative states of undress, and gave him a grin. “Scandalous.”
“The poor neighbours.” He leaned forward. “But that’s not what I was thinking of.”
“Oh?”
“I was thinking that my robe is a bit sweaty now. And surely your top must be, too. And perhaps it might be best if we both bathed?”
“Are you sayin’ I’m manky, Peter Carlisle?”
He grinned. “No, Rose. I’m suggesting we get fully naked and enjoy a shower together.” He stepped back, pretending to think. “Well, unless you’d rather not. In which case, I’ll take a shower by myself, and imagine you’re in there with me.”
Rose let out a soft “Oh!”, her eyes large as she processed what he meant. And then a sly smile of her own crossed her lips. “Or, Peter…you could take a shower and imagine I was in there…while I watched.”
It was his turn to be surprised; it didn’t last, the idea of it far too titillating to be resisted. “You fiendishly clever woman.”
Rose grinned. “’s why you love me.”
“It’s one of many, many reasons why I love you, Rose.” He cupped her cheek, leaning in for a kiss. “And never doubt that I do love you.”
~ fin ~
Rating: M
Characters: Peter Carlisle/Rose Tyler
Disclaimer: Characters from Blackpool and Doctor Who are the property of BBC, are are used with the greatest of love and respect; no profit is intended from the writing or sharing of this story.
Written for: meralee82
Prompt: How about the morning after ' A Burns Thing'. :)
Notes: Written for the timestamp meme over at my LJ. Sorry for posting late--it's President's Day here, which is a Federal Holiday. And it's my last proper day off, I think, before I go on vacation. So I shamelessly slept in an extra four hours today. Everything up until Marth 19 will be posted at the regular time. :)
Many thanks to both earlgreytea68 and chicklet73 for making the time to beta this.
A Burns Thing - Epilogue
The room was filled with bright morning light when Rose finally drifted from slumber, to dozing, to general awareness. She could see the light through her eyelids, knew that Peter was most likely already awake and was only waiting for her to be awake, too. But it was so delicious, snug under the warm duvet, curled into the warmth of his body; it had been such a long week, getting things done before the trip, trying to make sure she’d not be needed whilst she was in Kendal.
Surely he’d understand if she slept, just a bit longer…
She slipped her hand across his chest, pressing further against him; she’d just doze, just another few minutes.
“Good morning, love,” she heard him whisper, his arm moving across her back as he held her to him.
It all came flooding back to her: the night before, Peter reading to her as she drowsed, Peter telling her-finally!-that he loved her. And she thought she’d told him, too; her memory was a bit fuzzy, but she didn’t think she’d simply dreamt it.
She opened her eyes, looking up at him. His expression was inscrutable, and she briefly wrinkled her brow as she tried to think why. She felt Peter grow very still; noted that his expression had shifted to one of guardedness.
“Did…” Rose winced as her voice came out as a raspy squeak. She swallowed, and tried again. “I…I…” She wanted to say the words-wanted to look at him, in the morning light, in his bed, and say ‘I love you.’ She did-desperately-but she found herself once again unable to say the phrase. “Peter-”
Peter’s fingers rested on her lips as he soothingly shushed her. She felt a flash of annoyance; he didn’t have to be patronizing about it. His lips quirked as he watched her, his eyes flitting across her face, his eyes now crinkled with…amusement?
She felt another flash of annoyance.
Peter surprised her then, rolling them, bracing himself above her; and then he leaned down, his lips gently brushing across hers, the kiss unhurried and undemanding-a simple expression of love and affection.
“I love you, Rose,” Peter whispered, punctuating the words with another kiss.
“I love you, Peter,” she replied, not thinking twice about what she was saying. She felt him smile as he kissed her again, and she smiled in response. “You clever, clever man,” she murmured around their kiss.
Peter outright grinned at that, then leaned forward to softly say, “And you love it.”
“I do.” She waited until he’d pulled back, until he was looking at her, and then she repeated, “I love you, Peter.” Her heart was racing in her chest-she felt a strange mix of fear and elation wash through her after she said the words, and held her breath as she waited for Peter’s response.
He shifted his weight to his right elbow, bringing his left hand to gently stroke her face, his fingers tracing down from her temple to her jaw, the repeated gesture soothing. “My Rose…my beloved Rose…”
She couldn’t help but smile; felt a flash of joy as she saw Peter’s answering smile, full of wonder. “Say it again?”
“My Rose?” he teased.
“No…”
“And you love it?”
“No.”
His smile faded, his eyes now almost black. “I love you, Rose. Madly.”
Her breath hitched.
“I…I have since you left. That is, I’ve known since you left. Since the case ended,” he added, almost as an afterthought.
She reached up, threading her fingers through his hair, and then sliding her hand to cup his jaw. “Since June?”
“Since June. Since the night we had supper at the Inn.” He gave her a small smile.
At the Inn…“So long?”
“I’ve wanted to tell you-you can’t imagine how badly I’ve wanted to, Rose. To be able to say that I love you-I love you-and, well…” He skated his glance to the side, his eyes gazing at the pillow.
Rose paused a moment, waiting to hear how he’d finish the thought, her heart racing. He remained silent, almost pensive, and she almost whispered, “I realized it when I was here, visiting you-during those two weeks.” She smiled up at him as he returned his attention to her. “In the bath. I’ve had a fondness for that bath ever since.”
He smiled, as she’d hoped he would. “I’ll have to look into having it bronzed, then,” he replied cheekily.
“Might be a bit chilly against the skin. Then again, no worse than porcelain, I suppose.” She ruffled his hair, earning a purse of Peter’s lips and a brief flash of his dimple. “D’you suppose we could stay in bed all day? Do nothing but lay here, saying, 'I love you' over and over again?”
A look of hurt flashed across Peter’s face. “Y’don’t have to tease-”
Rose’s heart ached at the idea that he’d been hurt to the point of thinking her suggestion was anything other than sincere. That a woman-women, really-could have treated his love so cavalierly, that he’d automatically assume that she was mocking his saying the words... “I’m serious, Peter. Quite serious. I…I feel like I could just keep sayin’ it. I love you. And…and that I could listen t’you say it, over and over again. ‘s like...like crack.”
Peter’s forehead wrinkled in confusion. “Eh?”
She’d forgotten that it was a reference he’d not understand. “It’s addictive. Very, very addictive.” She pulled him down for a kiss.
~ - ~
He’d hoped they’d make love that morning, murmuring words of love to each other; instead, they were interrupted by a phone call from Mickey Smith. He’d convinced her to ignore the mobile as it rang; then ignore it again as it rang not a minute later. But when it happened for a third time, Rose heaved a sigh.
“Leave it, Rose.”
“I can’t-‘s gotta be somethin’ important, if they keep ringin’ like that.”
“You’re on holiday,” he whined as she rolled out of bed, and hastily dug through her clothes for her mobile.
She gave him a cheeky wink, and then proceeded to answer the phone. He propped himself up on his elbow, watching her; how the light played across her naked body, how she shifted or stood as she wrinkled her nose and listened to what was being said on the other end of the line. Watched as she straightened, the corners of her mouth turning downwards before she barked out a series of orders, and then began to talk at length about something which sounded roughly like a sneeze but had to be a name.
He sighed, folding back his side of the duvet, standing, stretching. He relaxed, and found Rose staring at him, her mouth open slightly; he gave her a wink, and then slowly walked across the room to the en-suite, leaving her to hastily try to cover the fact that she’d stopped speaking mid-sentence.
When he emerged from his morning ablutions, Rose was in bed, the phone cradled to her ear, the duvet pulled up and tucked under her arms. He shook his head, reaching for the robe hanging off the wardrobe door, pulling it on as he walked over to her. “Pen and paper in the office down the hall,” he whispered, placing a soft kiss against her hair before turning, leaving the room, and walking downstairs.
He decided to brew up a pot of coffee, and at least inventory what options were available for breakfast-he glanced at the clock-or brunch. He’d given up his subscription to the local paper years before, but as he slowly drank his coffee, waiting for Rose to come downstairs, he wondered if maybe it wouldn’t be a good idea to renew it; it wasn’t that he didn’t know the news in the area, but it would give him something new to read on lazy mornings.
Not that he had a lot of those, to be sure; as soon as he’d shipped off the last of the McGreevy materials, Williams had sent him back to night work. He still enjoyed it-especially as he and Penny had formed a sort of friendship, both of them now finding it enjoyable to work with one another. And it was true that many of the more interesting cases often occurred in the middle of the night, when he and Penny were the detectives in charge. It wreaked havoc on seeing Rose, though-they invariably lost a day when they were together, Peter trying desperately to stay awake through the afternoon, then finding it impossible to fall asleep when Rose did.
Rose considered it to be more of an adventure than anything else, he supposed; he knew she loved to text him if she was working a late night or early morning case. He’d oftentimes be on a scene, waiting for forensics or trying not to pull his hair out as he interviewed witnesses, only to be interrupted by a text from Rose saying something delightfully naughty, or sweet-or, in at least one instance, funny enough to make him laugh at a most inopportune time.
Of course the messages appeared on the odd quiet nights when he and Penny were playing cards in the station, too, leading the DC to tease him unendingly about the value of Peter’s mobile on the black market. Penny thought it hysterical; the idea horrified Peter.
“All done.” Rose slid into the chair next to him, dressed in the pyjamas she only rarely wore during her visits.
“Done, done?”
“Hopefully. Was...” She frowned as she thought about how to explain it. “Mickey’s got a bit of a problem with this thing that looks a bit like a five-headed snail. Only it’s the size of a Dachshund. And it doesn’t have a shell.”
Peter blinked; it was terribly easy to forget the types of things Rose encountered during her job as a matter of course.
“Is it eating the greenery in people’s back gardens?” he tried.
Rose laughed. “Nah-wants all of the lacquer in Southend-on-Sea. Can’t quite work out why, though.”
“And they had to call you for this?”
Rose sighed, her hand reaching for his. “I’d come across ‘em before.” ‘Before’, he knew, meant ‘When I was travelling through space and time with the man who I used to think you resembled’. He’d grown more comfortable with the idea, but he still found it difficult to compete with the ghosts of her past-especially when the ghost in question had been able to offer her so much more than he ever could.
“Hey,” Rose said softly, leaning down to look at him, catching his eye as he gazed down at the table.
“Sorry.” He took a sip of coffee, then soldiered on. “I…I know, Rose. Intellectually, I know. It’s just…I’m working on it, emotionally. It’ll take a wee while longer, but I’ll get there.”
“I love you, Peter. You.”
“But…”
“No buts. I love Peter Carlisle, Detective Inspector and clever bastard.” She stood, releasing his hand. “I’m quite happy to stand in the back garden and shout it…” She smiled, moving to the back door; he set his mug down with a thunk, hurrying after her as she scampered away. “I love Peter Carlisle, Detec-” Rose was shouting, giggling, trying to turn the lock on the door-but he’d caught her, and covered her lips with hers before she could finish the words.
“I know,” he said softly, pulling back. “I believe you, Rose. That you love me.”
“Madly,” she replied, smiling.
“Profoundly,” he said, his knuckles ghosting across her cheek.
“Absolutely,” she whispered, her eyes large as she gazed up at him.
“How terrible for me.” He leaned down, kissing her, pressing her against the door, his hands bracing against the wood. Rose slipped her arms over his shoulders, her fingers winding through his hair as she pulled him towards her, her tongue slipping past his lips to dance against his.
His right hand dropped from the door, finding Rose’s hip; he pushed the cotton of her pyjamas out of the way, found her bare, warm skin with his fingers. She made a small noise in the back of her throat, still kissing him-he took it as a sign of approval, and slowly rocked his hips into her.
Rose broke the kiss, gasping, her hips bucking into him; he repeated the action, both of his hands now resting on her hips, holding her against him as he ground into her. She tilted her head back, resting it against the door as her hands moved to his shoulders; he rocked against her once more, causing her to whimper.
He leaned in, whispering, “I love you, Rose,” as he rocked into her once more.
“Peter…” Rose’s breath hitched, her hands moving to his hips, then his bum, pulling him firmly against her, holding him there. She raised her head, watching him as she rotated her hips, smiling as he gasped her name. She leaned forward, whispering conspiratorially, “I want you naked, Peter. And in me, making me come…” She slowly parted his robe, bunching the fabric at his hips, exposing him fully to her.
“Yes,” he hissed, his jaw clenching as he tried to retain some semblance of self-control. Rose moved forward, watching him, leaning in to place a kiss against his neck even as her hand slipped between them. She tilted her hips away, her hand deftly finding his penis and pressing against it; and it was his turn to whimper as she slowly rubbed up and down along his erection.
It would have been so easy to let her continue; to throw caution to the wind, and make love to her in the kitchen, against the door…he wanted nothing more than to do just that, to strip her of her pyjamas and knickers, to thrust into her, feel her around him…
“Then do, Peter,” she whispered, looking at him with dark eyes, answering the words he’d apparently said and not thought.
“Condom…”
Her thumb was covered with moisture from his erection, and she was distractingly rubbing it across the tip of his penis, the motion not rhythmic but still hypnotizing. “’m on contraceptives, remember?”
“But-” He groaned as she squeezed him gently, then dipped her hand back to cup his balls.
“No but, Peter. I want you to make love to me, against this door.”
He opened his eyes, found the lucidity to grab her wrist and still her actions. She gave him a lazy smile as she straightened, freeing her hand and bringing it to her lips, slowly taking her thumb into her mouth, then her index finger.
He held her gaze, answering her challenge; watched her as he moved his hands to her waist, as he looped his thumbs under the fabric and pulled her knickers and pyjamas down. She stepped out of them, one leg lifting daintily, freed from the fabric; he leaned forward, his hand finding her thigh, lifting it as he pressed between her legs. “Like that, then?” he murmured, his voice low.
“Not quite.” She rotated her hips, trying to guide him into her.
“Tell me what you want, Rose.”
She moved to reach between them, but was stopped as he pressed harder, his hips solidly against hers. He could feel her warmth surrounding him, almost driving him mad; knew it wouldn’t take but a slight hitch of his hips as he lifted her leg further in order to be buried within her.
“I want you, Peter.” She lifted her leg, rocked into him; he met her, sliding, plunging into her, surrounded by her warmth and wetness.
“Mo gradh,” he groaned, adding in a whisper, “My Rose.”
“Yours. Love you…” She was rocking against him, trying to find friction; he arched back just enough to withdraw, then pushed forward, as far as he could. Rose tilted her head back, her hands braced on his shoulders as he set a rhythm, pulling out slowly, then thrusting quickly into her.
“Rose…love this…love how you feel…” He was panting the words, his hips rocking into and away from her, the feel of her warmth around him feeding the orgasm growing in the pit of his stomach.
“Yes, Peter…faster….please….don’ stop…” Rose’s fingers were pressing into his shoulders now, her eyes glazed with need as she watched him, as she glanced from his eyes to his mouth, licking her lips.
“Want you-”
“Love you so much…love you...” she sobbed the words as she came, repeating them as her muscles spasmed around him.
And then his own orgasm crested, his motion becoming more violent, jerkier; and then he pressed as far into her as he could, releasing, whispering “I love you, my Rose.”
He was bone weary when the wave passed, but utterly, completely content. Rose had rested her head on his shoulder, her breath warm against his neck; she was slowly drifting her hands across his back, her fingers warm where they trailed over his sweat-soaked skin. He was still wearing his robe, causing him to let out a small laugh.
“Wha’s funny?” Rose asked groggily, raising her head.
He leaned forward, kissing her briefly, before releasing her leg; he slid out of her as he took a small step back, causing a small chill to pass through him. “We’re a mess, you and I. Me in my robe, you in your pyjama top…”
Rose glanced down, noting their relative states of undress, and gave him a grin. “Scandalous.”
“The poor neighbours.” He leaned forward. “But that’s not what I was thinking of.”
“Oh?”
“I was thinking that my robe is a bit sweaty now. And surely your top must be, too. And perhaps it might be best if we both bathed?”
“Are you sayin’ I’m manky, Peter Carlisle?”
He grinned. “No, Rose. I’m suggesting we get fully naked and enjoy a shower together.” He stepped back, pretending to think. “Well, unless you’d rather not. In which case, I’ll take a shower by myself, and imagine you’re in there with me.”
Rose let out a soft “Oh!”, her eyes large as she processed what he meant. And then a sly smile of her own crossed her lips. “Or, Peter…you could take a shower and imagine I was in there…while I watched.”
It was his turn to be surprised; it didn’t last, the idea of it far too titillating to be resisted. “You fiendishly clever woman.”
Rose grinned. “’s why you love me.”
“It’s one of many, many reasons why I love you, Rose.” He cupped her cheek, leaning in for a kiss. “And never doubt that I do love you.”
~ fin ~